Broken At 18

Chapter 5: The Promise She Never Made

The words struck her harder than she expected. Her eyes burned, her throat tightening as her brother kept his head down, saying nothing. The air left Faith’s lungs. Mr. Dawson. A man in his fifties her senior, whose face was perpetually flushed.

Her mother reached across the table, her voice turning syrupy. “You’re a beautiful girl, Faith. You’ll have a good life. Mr. Dawson has already asked about you. He’s a kind man — rich, respected. You won’t lack anything.”

Magaret exchanged a look with Robert, then smiled — a tired, practiced kind of smile. “You’ll have a future, darling. Just not the one you think. Mr. Dawson has been asking about you again. He’s kind, generous. He could give you a good life.

Robert folded his napkin, as though the conversation were settled. “It’s time you start thinking about stability. Books won’t put a roof over your head.”

Her heart cracked in two. “I don’t want stability,” she whispered. “I want a chance” she pleaded, her voice trembling. "I don’t need the savings. I just need your permission to apply, I even got a scholar—“

Robert cuts in, his face set in stone. "There will be no college, Faith. We settled this months ago." He gestured toward her younger brother, Rohan, who was meticulously scraping the last remnants of gravy from his plate. "Rohan graduates in two years. And he’s a man with big dreams, Every shilling we can save

every favor we can call in, goes toward his engineering program. That is the family’s priority."

Magaret sighed, a sound that implied Faith was being deliberately difficult. "Faith, but we must be practical. School isn't for women. It’s too difficult, too expensive, and what would you use it for? You’ll be managing a magnificent house. That is your learning."

Faith felt a cold, hard knot form in her stomach. The talk about Rohan’s education wasn't new, but the finality of her own fate was being delivered right alongside the mashed potatoes.

She pushed her chair back afraid her tears could fall. the harsh scrape across the wooden floor echoing her shattering heart. Her brother Rohan merely looked up, blinked once, and went back to his dessert. The sheer, casual cruelty of their dismissal—the way her lifelong dream was tossed aside for a quick financial fix—made her throat burn. She didn't trust herself to speak. She ran.

“Faith!” Magaret called, but her voice only made the ache worse.

She couldn’t hold it in anymore. Tears spilled before she even reached the staircase, her footsteps sharp and desperate against the polished wood, past the framed family portraits that suddenly felt like strangers watching her fall apart. The chandelier above glittered faintly, mocking the quiet elegance her parents were so proud of.

She reached her room and slammed the door shut, pressing her back against it as her breath came in shaky bursts. The faint echo of her mother’s voice faded, leaving only silence — a suffocating, golden kind of silence that belonged in houses like theirs.

Her room was perfect, of course. Just as her mother liked it.

The cream-colored curtains were drawn halfway, letting in the soft glow from the garden lamps outside. The bed — wide, neatly tucked, with snow-white sheets — sat untouched, as if no one really lived here. The scent of rose perfume still hung in the air, sweet and heavy, a reminder of the gift her mother had placed on her dresser last Christmas with a rehearsed smile.

Everything gleamed — the polished oak floor, the crystal vase with fake lilies by the window, the framed family photo on her nightstand where they all pretended to be happy.

And there, on her writing desk, lay the scholarship letter which she was planning to surprise her Family with tonight. The paper looked so small, so powerless, beneath the soft circle of her desk lamp.

A wooden dresser stood by the wall, the mirror cracked slightly at one edge. Beside it, her schoolbooks and a few worn-out novels were stacked neatly, though she’d read each one a dozen times. A little lamp sat on her study table, throwing a weak light over the envelope that held her scholarship letter — the one that was supposed to change everything.

Faith sat down on the bed, her legs shaking. The tears came harder now, falling onto her hands as she tried to breathe through the sting in her chest.

Her family had enough — not poor, not rich — just comfortable enough to make her wonder why her dreams were too expensive for them.

The walls felt smaller with every sob. Her mother’s perfume still lingered faintly from when she’d come in that morning, telling her to tidy up. It was strange how something that once felt comforting now made her sick.

A soft knock came at the door.

“Faith?” her mother’s voice was gentler now, almost sweet. “Open up, darling. Let’s talk.”

Faith didn’t answer. She just stared at the scholarship letter on her desk — the dream waiting for her — while the same voice that crushed it whispered from the other side of the door.

The door creaked open slowly. Faith didn’t move. Magaret stepped inside, closing it quietly behind her.

“Faith,” she said, sitting down beside her on the bed, “you know we’re only trying to help you.”

Faith didn’t look up. Her fingers twisted the edge of her blanket. “Help me?” she whispered. “By taking away everything I ever wanted?”

Her mother sighed, reaching out to touch her hair, but Faith leaned slightly away.

“You think life is easy?” her mother said quietly. “You think I didn’t have dreams too? I wanted to go to nursing school once. But then I met your father, and everything changed.”

Faith looked at her, tears still wet on her cheeks. “And you want that for me?”

“I want you safe,” her mother replied quickly. “You’re a girl. The world doesn’t forgive girls who want too much.”

Faith shook her head, her voice breaking. “It’s not wanting too much to want to learn, Mama. I can work, I can—”

Her mother’s hand tightened around hers. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“Faith, listen to me,” she said softly, “Mr. Dawson can give you everything you’ll ever need. A home. Security. You’ll never worry about anything again..”

"Now, let’s be sensible, darling," Magaret murmured, stroking her hair. "Look at you, stewing over scraps of paper and dusty lecture halls. Do you truly want to spend years hunched over books, fighting for scraps of attention? Do you want to wear those dreadful wool dresses and eat thin soup, only to end up a plain schoolmistress?"

Faith pulled her arm away. "I want to be able to think, Mama. I want to be useful. I want my own life."

Magaret gave a knowing, superior smile. "You will have a life richer than you can possibly imagine. Mr. Dawson’s estate has three sitting rooms. Three! Imagine the entertaining you will do. You will be a patroness, a social queen. That is a kind of power no diploma can buy."

Magaret leaned closer, her voice dropping to a confidential whisper. "And think of Rohan. You are his sister. He needs that engineering degree to secure our family name. If you marry Mr. Dawson, the burden is lifted instantly. No loans, no struggling, no fear. You are saving your brother. You are securing our future."

Faith stared into her mother’s eyes, seeking a flicker of remorse, a hint of doubt. There was nothing, only polished conviction.

"It is a noble sacrifice, Faith," Magaret concluded, standing up and smoothing her skirt. "You have the kind of beauty and grace that attracts wealth. That is your gift, dear. Why waste it on dusty books when you can secure comfort for us all? It's the simplest, easiest, and most honorable path. Be a good girl. Be a dutiful daughter. Do you know what it means to live comfortably?”

Faith stared down at their joined hands, feeling trapped by the warmth that was supposed to comfort her. “Comfortable,” she repeated bitterly. “Like you?”

Her mother’s face stiffened for a second. “You don’t understand now. You think love and dreams are enough, but they fade. What lasts is being taken care of.”

Faith stood up abruptly, pulling her hand free. “No, Mama,” she said, her voice shaking but steady. “What fades is the part of you that still wants something for yourself.”

Her mother’s expression softened again — but her eyes stayed cold. “You’ll regret saying that.”

Faith turned toward the desk, her eyes landing on the scholarship letter. “Maybe,” she whispered. “But I’ll regret staying even more.”

Magaret didn’t say anything, She simply kissed Faith’s forehead, her touch cold and clinical, and walked out, leaving the door slightly ajar—a final, chilling message that Faith's private sanctuary was now entirely open to her parents' will.